


The Hue Of Your Heart, The Pigment Of Your Eyes

by 7Threes



Category: Persona 5
Genre: AU, Abstract, Angst and Humor, Experimental, Other, Songfic, Symbolism, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 04:21:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15428910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7Threes/pseuds/7Threes
Summary: Akira Kurusu was just a normal teenage boy who could see the color of people's hearts. He also reflects his emotions by the shifting color of his eyes. In order to not be read like a book, he's hidden this part of himself.Basically a Persona 5 fanfiction that's mostly canon compliant; it's also an experiment to see if I'm able to color words in a certain way if I use certain words.





	1. Never Forgive, Never Forget

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a repost from Wattpad made by none other than yours truly under my former alias of Diivizkrah. I thought I’d get more recognition on here than on Wattpad, and I hope you guys enjoy my attempt at trying to paint certain colors over words.

**BLACK**

 

The first feeling I regain after the shock is pure blackness. Not hollow, not cold, but a burning layer of caked charcoal, like grime has fallen into my body and pricked at the undersides of my skin. I felt something akin to betrayal, that darkness that burned under my skin rising and prickling at my hope. What began as frustration at the audacity of those that took me turned in hopelessness. Yet, I won't be anything but defiant. I recalled the events that took place that night:

 

The air gave off a sting of blue, a hint of orange settling as a ghost of warmth on my skin. I was late to get home, the air smelling light despite the weight of it on my shoulders. I heard the desperate red argument of people in the distance, a man grabbing the wrists of a woman. Her heart was orange, his was violet and red. His eyes screamed 'danger', my brain screamed 'stop', but my heart screamed 'save'.

 

Blood ran through my ears, pumping with my heart, my eyes tunneled to them, and my hands pulled them away from each other. The red of the man faltered, turning orange, but his purple was ever prevalent as he tripped and fell down. Like drums in my head, the overture of the man's wrath only because realized by me too late. His heart turned black, keeping specks of violet, he growled at me and commanded the woman to pin assault on me. His wrath was contagious, as it had spread to my eyes when I protested. Then the police came, and the shock pulled me out of my body and into the recesses of my mind, where I saw a glimpse of a brightened indigo room lined with velvet, locked behind a cell of my own creation. I shuddered, and when I regained my sense of self once more, the room was white but their hearts were violet, looking down on me as I struggled to put out my words.

 

In my mind, I had fallen mute, and I told my story and watched their disbelieving faces while my eyes were a matte and charcoal black, a scowl prevalent on my face as I soon realized that they were simply treating me with formality. They didn't need to ask me these questions when they already have concluded me as a delinquent.

 

I wasn't ready to move, though. In the bitter depths of my heart, I sat on the subway packed like sardines with the overstimulation of colors and smells. Of course I couldn't help feeling bitter, but there was nothing I could do. That man made it abundantly clear that those who aren't chosen to change the world, can't change the world. Even my parents had told me to bow to the average.

 

My father works at a hospital and he rakes in most of the money for our family, with his squared face and strong build he was the ideal manly man, at least by western standards. He often would come home just to sleep and have my mother do all the housework, who also has a full time job at a university as a professor. She teaches music as a general medium, as it's her hobby and her specialty. My father is a Japanese man from the United States, and when he was younger he was in their military. He then met my mother, who went to the U.S. with her family, and they fell in love.

 

The only detrimental thing about that is that my father has PTSD, and decided that he should cope by drinking. There was a time when he was more pleasant, but things turned for the worst. My mother would scold me for coming back late, and my father would tell me not to be out or join any clubs because they might notice my bruises that happen in the thick of night when he awakens again with sterile breath, and a panicked red and orange heart. Ever since then, my mother has regressed into a shell of dark green. I learned to deal with being invisible everywhere I went, so this unwanted attention being brought to me felt nothing but sickening.

 

On the jolting ride to Yongen-Jaya, I wondered what type of person Sojiro Sakura might be. I wasn't given much details about him, I just knew that I could've ended up with someone probably worse. The name itself felt like an ethereal green, a gentle progressive sadness, feelings of absence and longing for something that cannot be returned. It rolled off my lips as if I'd spoken it millions of times before, and despite never meeting him I can already feel a strong color with him, the feeling of deja vu overwhelms my mind but I can't seem to place where the feeling stemmed from in the first place.

 

It's as if my mind has omitted the reason of free will, because everything about this felt familiar. Like I had walked the streets of Tokyo before, have been packed up like a sardine and shipped away from my problematic home.

 

When I arrive, I'm totally lost. I ask the police officer at the corner, however reluctantly, directions to Sojiro Sakura's house. My voice tends to catch in my throat in the presence of the violet-hearted men in blue. I arrived at his doorstep, rung, but nobody answered. It felt like a knell to the subjugation of my probation. However, it went unanswered. So much for my prepared epitaph, let alone the dirge.

 

The postman told me Sojiro Sakura would be at his Café by this time, Leblanc. I sighed in slight annoyance, irate ebbing at my temples as I decided to invest more effort into walking to the beginning of my end. Perhaps, now that I think about it, I was already at the end. Not to be morbid, though. Purely, and if I were to look at this whole part of my life as a narrative, the death to my old life was the overture to the life I'd experience anew. Out from the ashes of my bubbling anguish like tar, I would rise. Yet, not without struggle. It's only natural that my path be full of obstacles.

 

I stepped through the door to Leblanc to the ringing of the bell, and set my eyes upon the man who would hold me captive. My executioner, who sought to shut down my ambitions for my own good.

-

 

Black - Synonymous with wrath, hatred, loathing, but also emptiness, coldness, hopelessness, anguish.

 

Red - Synonymous with revolution, passion, aggression, frustration, justice, retaliation.

 

Orange - Synonymous with warmth, familial/platonic affection, comfort, content.

 

Yellow - Synonymous with anxiety, weightlessness, absentmindedness, excitement, naïveté, curiosity.

 

Green - Synonymous with equilibrium, wisdom, acceptance, reluctance, sorrow, insight, arbiter.

 

Blue - Synonymous with coldness, aloofness, calm, anticipation, prediction, rationality.

 

Indigo - Synonymous with gentleness, progression, determination, change, influence.

 

Violet - Synonymous with secretive, dominating, condescending, knowing, deceptive.

 

White - Synonymous with acceptance, forgiveness, understanding, lightness, affection.


	2. Filth And Squalor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I always knew that the damned would inherit the earth”

**BLACK**

 

Among the dregs, there was I. Like a martyr to the powerful hand of corruption, I was there to save others by demonstration. Myself included, we were discarded as the unwanteds of society, next to all the trash and truths that would be unwilling to be known. It's difficult to focus with my mind racing all over the place, worlds building themselves in my head like a painting made without color, a piece of propaganda that would just earn jeers of ignorance. It was like the world I knew was three times as heavy, and seven times more dark. Like the people around me were without eyes, bound to their misery as if they desired it.

 

The 'we' I speak of, will be answered later. We were like pieces of the puzzle that wouldn't fit the desired image, so we fit together by ourselves into our own picture. One of my first encounters of said people was Sojiro Sakura, in all manners all that I expected of him, layers upon layers of regret and reflection, wisdom and yearning. He sought his own atonement, that's what I saw in his heart. Perhaps I was that redemption.

 

The road to Shujin Academy - my new school which I would attend for my second year - was dull. Sakura-san made the passing comments about not being used to men sitting in the passenger seat, and grumbled other little nothings as I continued to wallow in my mind, hobbling almost to reach conclusions.

 

From what I could tell about Sakura-san, he cared. He didn't want me to make trouble, didn't want me to stand out; that was hopeless from day one. I would always be different, I would always be myself because I was tired of doubt, and I was tired of not walking on my own. I wanted change, and in my head I plotted millions of ways to bring about that change as soon as possible. Even if I was just another teenage kid who was tired of looking at the ash of war between those in power than the future held within the sky and the stars.

 

However, since we all have been used to this instrumentality, we have become blinded to our own nadir. Even the gods of this world think within the quarantines full of cesspool desires that leash us around like we have lizard brains alone. This tribalism has plagued the hearts, their light ensconced by a blackness I can't see through. An ignorance of evil, the true enemy of lies and denial, what aching pity I felt yet at the same time just as hopeless as the rest of the world. Like my skin was peeled back, I was reeled from the subliminal enigmatic landscape of my mind that talked to me in symbolisms, and my eyes were brought to look out the side of the car where I would step out.

 

My feet were upon the eve of Shujin Academy, uncertainty bubbling in my blood as I recalled my old high school memories with my friends, the time I spent at lunch before I was appropriately segregated by the unwillingness of my mouth and the restlessness of my mind. Hesitantly taking a step, as if I were on tightrope over the universe, I slowly ascended beyond the gates and into the school with Sakura-san as my guide. I clung to the intentions of his heart like a lifeline, as if I'd suffocate from the shrill anxiety that spiked along my spine. Each step felt like I was walking on glass, sterling-clear blackened ice, because in my head it felt like it was raining, the world tunneled and all color drained from my lenses, shaking with every passing moment. It felt almost like centuries to get to the top, and when Sakura-san was by my side once more I felt the weight jump off my shoulders. I had to hold it all together so he wouldn't worry about me more than he already did, but even he saw through that.

 

"You okay there?" he asked me, and just like that I felt like I could breathe again.

 

I didn't like admitting that I needed help, especially when it's already hard to speak. My heart burned with the guilt of Sakura-san's sympathy. At the time, I saw it as pity, and I felt insulted by pity.

 

I simply grumbled a reply as I continued walking ahead, and just like that the world behind me fell, and what replaced it was the image in my head, locked up of my own volition like a coward, unthinking and stepping forward with the rest on mere muscle memory. That nadir where we all relied on our desire that kept our lizard-brains on leashes, my skin peeling back like the knees of those who pray at the pews. Even they, who claim the absolute justice, still bend to an ultimatum to obtain what they desire passively, the caveat of the universe does not operate in such ways.

 

There is no karma for those who deserve, but merely something sold to remove oneself from plausible victims. What have I done to be so buried under where my dreams could never grow? Life isn't fair like that, and to those who believe it is bound by fate are unwilling to create their own future. That, I believe. So I am defiant, yet still victim of this society.

 

The static of my eyes absolved from my vision, and before me was the office with the Principal and my homeroom teacher, Ms. Kawakami. They explained to me that I would be held responsible for all issues I cause, like I didn't know that. The mere fact they would believe I'd think anyone else would come to defend me is laughable. In Tokyo, I became truthfully alone.

 

Deep down, I'm frustrated. I can't function without overthinking. This has overcome me many times before, and has once again. My mind is so loud, I sometimes wish I didn't think so much. These feelings make me understand the actions of my father, escaping from his racing thoughts.

 

There were times when it wasn't so loud, but it's only gotten worse as of late. Because this is my form of escapism. I am disgusted by acceptance to injustice, yet I indulge in it as if it were simply another aspect of me. I'm not so naïve to think there were 'good old days', but sometimes I wonder if my mind would be silent if things were the way they used to be.

 

As we leave, Sakura-san gives me another sad look, "You sure you're alright?" I'm not ready this time, and I pale because I don't want him to be able to read me. I can't let him see any other color in my eyes.


	3. Take More Than You Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And you give and you give and you give ‘til there’s nothing left to give just a hole in the sail of the charitable”

**BLACK**

On the ride returning back, traffic doesn't go so swimmingly, as Sakura-san would've liked. I contemplated to myself why traffic would be so delayed until the radio divulged that for us. There was an accident, a psychotic breakdown. I wonder if one might happen to me if I keep going down this pit of anger.

 

"Rgh... Another accident?" Sakura-san shook his head. Reflecting on Sakura-san himself, I wondered why he would consider taking me in if he didn't want any trouble in the first place.

 

"Why did you take me in?" I said, keeping at bay the bitterness in my head. Sakura-san's crinkled brows regressed at the question, considering the weight and answering in flustered words, "Someone asked me to do it, and I just... happened to agree with it. Plus I've already been payed for it, too."

 

Of course, with my eyes I saw the violet words leave his lips, mixed with that serene green of his. I didn't pry too much, lest I wanted to get thrown out. I was already freeloading, and there was no way Sakura-san wished for a delinquent like myself to poke and prod at his private matters.

 

By the time I returned, it's evening, the quiet of night always left me restless [no dejes de descansar, en la calle caminas quien te va a perseguir]. Sakura-san gawked at the details of the incident we heard about earlier on the radio in the car, "Eighty people were caught up in that accident? Seriously?!" his exasperated tone was different than what I had observed before.

 

I felt muddled under my own thoughts that night, my head hurt and it felt like my skin would jump off in anxiety and anticipation. I couldn't sit still on my bed, my coffin, so I simply squirmed unsettled in my own body. My breathing conflicted the connection between myself and my body, and I lost that sense of self as I further delved into the source of my plight.

 

Was it the fault of the world? Was it the fault of that man? Was it the fault of myself?

 

Was I wrong?

 

My head hurt, the white noise tendencies of my mind thrumming like a boosted bass. No form of outer stimulation could ground me to reality, an ouroboros of opaqueness reaching around me, that of antiquated mortal lore; a nocturnal menace that vexes the communal and hexes the temple echelon. Terrified of the likeness, the contrition of my doubt sets in as I observed the entity which stemmed from my very self; me.

 

Like a sense of deja vu, the blue flames presented themselves to me in a vision reminiscent to a monster, a ghost of my hearts. It spoke to me words I couldn't recall, and set in like led in the base of my stomach, like a drum of liquid pushing me down.

 

Terminal, it fell to the depth of my mind.

 

-

 

Sae Niijima stares at me from the other side of the table, eyes like a hawk. That's right, when I had awoken the next day, when I went to school, something odd happened.

 

She who asks me to divulge my secrets will get nothing but the truth, for I am unwilling to say anything else; no, more like my mouth refuses it. I breathe heavy, calming myself. The emotions in my head swirling as I recall the events leading up to these circumstances tax me greatly, and my heat throbs in protest as I will myself to dive back in once more. Right, why am I here with this prosecutor? Why?

 

That's right, I must remember for the sake of that voice.

 

-

 

When I awoke, my body felt molded and crusted to the sheets. I didn't want to go to school that day, let alone any day, because my mind just ran and ran and ran away from me. It practically burned the behind of my eyes as I endeavored to encourage myself that this was for my own good, to be obedient. So much for that, though.

 

Slowly bringing myself up from the mostly cluttered attic of Leblanc, I felt a certain dizzying sensation. I didn't remember what I dreamt the night prior, let alone the origin of the plight that rested on my mind then. I felt so distant, yet again, even if I was right there I was a thousand miles away, staring at the colors of people's hearts which have turned mostly black.

 

That morning, I was surprised Sakura-san made me curry, let alone that the curry would taste brilliant. It brightened my day a little, but I still felt bad that he put effort into making something so delicious for the likes of me. I told him so much, but Sakura-san just responded with a simple, "Yeah."

 

I wouldn't admit that I was a little hurt at the fact Sakura-san didn't expect me to be a good student. I guess that was also my fault, though, too. I set out for the day, wondering what kind of people went to Shujin.

 

It became a situation where I couldn't settle for being stuck in my head, so I attentively searched for my transfers from Yongen-Jaya to Central Square to the Ginza Line, where I unsteadily stepped through the gate and packed myself inside like a sardine.

 

On the ride, I couldn't help the sinking feeling that overcame me. That feeling seemed to keep finding its way back to me, bringing me down to expect the worst. I guess everything's turned me into a diligent follower of Murphy's Law. I could probably cut myself on all of my edginess, but I couldn't really help but feel down because I'll be all alone at this school. Sakura-san is also barely company, especially considering how extremely talkative he is *cough* he's not *cough*.

 

But it's not like I'll be alone here forever. Maybe if I have admirable behavior, I could make Principal Kobayakawa eat his words about me doing things in hiding at my hometown. The worst I did was... never mind that, actually.

 

I was then pulled from my thoughts when I felt the cool lick of rain against my skin. Well, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The complexity of the language has gotten to the point where my writing sounds like Gundham Tanaka rip


	4. This Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This body’s not a temple it’s a prison”

**BLACK**

 

I ran to cover, beneath an overhang of fabric in front of a miscellaneous store on the side of the road. Just in front of me, another, with their hood up, dashes next to me; when they take off their hood I stare at her natural blonde hair and blue eyes. Such Aryan cannot be from Japan, so I concluded her as a foreigner. Shaking off the rain from her hair, she returned my look for a moment when a black car pulled up and then rolled down their window to see a man who looked familiar, his chin practically rectangular and hair that made him look like a piece of broccoli with a missing chromosome. Or, that might just me my bias to the sickening color of his heart; this man was evil with violet and licks of yellow, manipulative soul unmistakably distinguished from the girl's heart of oppressive black and hidden red.

 

This man was undoubtedly manipulating her into doing something; the flash of displeasure on her face as the man offered her a ride, and her darkened airs as she complied. Next was me who he offered a ride to, and the inside of my head bristled in preparation to retaliate, however my soft voice simply gave a half-assed, "Nah."

 

I watched as the man rolled up his window, and drove off with the girl, wondering if I should've stopped her from getting in. My thoughts, though, were interrupted by a boisterous boy with hair dyed blonde, yelling after what I assumed was the man in the car.

 

"Dammit!" he yelled, probably upset that he was too late. Out of the corner of his eye, he must've spotted me, but I didn't want to get roped into some trouble by a punk like him.

 

"...What do you want?" he questioned me, "You plannin' on rattin' me out to Kamoshida?"

 

I confusedly question back, "Kamoshida?" The other man takes his hands out of the pockets of his plaid pants, "Huh? In that car just now. It was Kamoshida." the other paused then ranted, "He does whatever the hell he wants. Who the hell does he think he is—the king of a castle? Don't you agree?"

 

Truth be told, I already knew the man in the car was probably a shithead, but I don't think I would've been able to answer that since I can only guess how he acts. He realized this, and then folded his arms and leaned his body to the side, still slouched, "...Wait, you don't know Kamoshida? Are you for real? You're from Shujin, right?"

 

"You go to Shujin too?" I asked, and he unfolded his arms, "What...? No other high school's got a uniform like this. A second year, huh? We're the same grade then. Never seen you before though." then it seemed to click, "Oh, you a transfer student?" I nodded, and he muttered, "Then no wonder you don't know him." he changed his tone again, "This rain ain't too bad. We better hurry up or we'll be late." he began walking forward when a flash hit us, eliciting a headache from both of us.

 

"Ugh," he said, "Uugh, my head hurts... Dammit... I wanna go home..." and then I soon followed after him.

 

-

 

Pulled out from my recollection, she questions me.

 

"...There was a terrible subway accident that day. You remember it, don't you?" she paused, "I assume you know of the uproar that the public calls the 'psychotic breakdown incidents'."

 

I blank out for a few moments, searching in my mind for the answer but giving my immediate one. "I might."

 

She notes, "You say that like it's none of your business. It was all over the news, and one of the victims included a teacher at you high school. I've no doubt you heard about it. On that day, were you still an 'ordinary' student?" She then watches my face and gauges my reaction, as if searching for answers that I don't have.

 

"What do you mean?" I don't quite understand what she meant, what she was trying to get out of me.

 

She sits back a bit more, withdrawing her previous question in turn for a new one, "...Let me change the question. You transferred to Shujin Academy, correct?" I nod in reply before she continues, "An ordinary prep school that could be found in any city..." she pauses, "...That's what it should've been. What happened around that time? Tell me everything, truthfully."

 

Regressing into the recesses of my memory, I search for that truth she is looking for, the one that she will surely question the authenticity of. But if she wishes to understand the truths I have come to, she would have to accept the truth that's stranger than fiction; the one of that other world, the cognitive world where the blackness of people's hearts take shape; the desires of man in the cesspool with their lizard brains on a self-fulfilling leash.

 

I won't tell her a lie, because the ugly truth is more beautiful than a white lie, because the truth is not optional like we want to make it out to be, the denial a plague of archaic values that kills the future. I will show her that truth.


End file.
